Mr Fahrenheit
by Adorabloodthirsty
Summary: Freddie Mercury's voice just does things to people, especially Crowley.


It was a particularly sunny day. Which was odd since this was England, and in England, there weren't many particularly sunny days.

Crowley had decided that he hated the sun.

It glared at him through his bedroom window, so he glared back.

His hair was a mess and he was wearing the same clothes had worn the day before, so he looked fairly silly, glaring at inanimate objects, but it made him feel better, and who are we to judge? He shrugged his shoulders and everything obediently righted itself. Damn straight.

Crowley was also hungover. Mind you, demons and angels alike (but more commonly demons), only get hungover when they forget not to. And Crowley had drunk quite a lot last night, and was not to be held accountable by his actions.

He groaned as the hangover dispersed and he pulled himself up out of bed and shuffled down the stairs. He was in the mood for tea.

There was a clatter in the kitchen and Crowley froze. Was it Hastur? Had he come to be a total asshole as usual? Crowley frowned and moved as stealthily as he could in his given state (which was not very much at all) and slithered his way to the kitchen doorway. It wasn't a just a clatter, there was music as well. Crowley's ears were tuned to the sound of this music like an animal to its mating call. It was Freddie Mercury.

Crowley now knew that there was no way it was Hastur, who wouldn't know good music if it slapped him across the face then married his mother.

Fain lines of "Don't Stop Me Now" made their way through the door, but were mingled with something strange. Someone was singing along.

Crowley crouched down and pushed the door open with two fingers cautiously. Due to his position, he first saw a pair of legs. They were pale, but obviously male, but one who knew more than a thing or two about moisturizing.

Well, that narrowed it down to... only Aziraphale.

Oh, _riiiight_. He had let Aziraphale stay the night over at his guestroom because the angel had actually fallen asleep in the bar. Crowley had sighed drunkenly and poofed them over to his house, too drunk to drive, and too tired to sober up.

Crowley now sighed and straightened up. He opened the door all the way, and there stood Aziraphale, who turned with the sound of the door.

"Oh, hello, dear." Aziraphale said pleasantly, halting his singing duet with Mr. Mercury momentarily to greet his friend.

"Hullo, Zira. Why are you in my kitchen?" Crowley grunted and took a seat at the breakfast bar he had installed with the house for no reason at all.

"I am cooking you breakfast since you don't seem able to do it yourself. Honestly, you had absolutely nothing in your cupboards and I had to..." Aziraphale fussed, and Crowley tuned out.

"You listen to Freddie Mercury?" Crowley cut in. Aziraphale frowned at the interruption, but it was gone in less than a second.

He nodded earnestly, "It's a wonder I hadn't gotten into him earlier. I believe it was because that was _all_ one could hear in that car of yours that I had eventually learned to tune it out, but he's a particularly nice bloke."

Crowley sighed dramatically, "Oh thank Go-...Sa-... bugger it. Finally! Is he not genius?"

"I do suppose. Now, would you like a pancake that looks like a dolphin?" Aziraphale said absently.

"Ooh, a dolphin. Amazing creatures, they are." Crowley nodded sagely.

Aziraphale turned back around and was caught back up in the music. "_I am a rocket ship on my way to Mars, on a collision course..._" he sang softly to himself and he flipped a pancake that was suspiciously _too_ dolphin-like.

As he sang, he danced. It did not seem to affect his cooking in the least, and it seemed very natural, almost as if he was not paying any attention to his movements at all. His hips swayed and shook with the beat. Sometimes he would do a little jig, and it was the only thing Crowley had to watch as he waited for his food since the remote to the television in his kitchen was so _far_ away and he seemed to have conveniently forgot that he could turn it on without a remote.

"_I am a sex machine ready to reload, like an atom bomb about to oh oh oh oh oh explode._" Crowley should have thought that these words sounded silly coming from Aziraphale, the angel, but for some reason, he did not. He was too busy watching the show.

"_I'm burning through the skies, yeah. Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit. I'm traveling at the speed of light I wanna make a supersonic man out of you._" Aziraphale sang the chorus of the song, his voice level raising slightly. He danced joyfully, swaying his hips more prominently, adding gestures here and there. Crowley was glued.

Speaking of Crowley, the demon felt an odd stirring as he watched his friend dance in a way that should be completely illegal for an angel. But maybe it was just Freddie Mercury's voice, his mind added helpfully.

Frowning at this strange feeling, Crowley looked toward the source.

Well, shit. He was going to need a cold shower.

He stood hurriedly, and made his way out of the room.

"Crowley, dear, where are you going?" Aziraphale called as Crowley left.

"I... uh... I have something to take care of, angel. Won't take but a minute." came Crowley's voice a bit too quickly, not wanting to tip off Aziraphale.

Aziraphale simply smirked and went back to flipping the pancakes.


End file.
